


The Secrets That You Keep

by LuxEvergreen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Compliant, Did I mention how fluffy this was?, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, No mentions of Ser Cleos Frey, So damn fluffy, Spoilers, Spoilers for Book 3 - A Storm of Swords, With a wee smack of angst, You'll find nothing but fluff here, kinda-sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxEvergreen/pseuds/LuxEvergreen
Summary: “Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.”― Mahatma Gandhi, Tommy Wiseau'sThe Room, 2003





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a fluffy one shot. There are only two chapters here, and it'll remain as a stand alone.
> 
> I'm serious: this shit is nothing but straight up fluff. We're talking pure, uncut, high-grade bricks of fluff dropping straight from the source. You heard it here first; tell a friend. 
> 
> Like... for real. A suspension bridge made out of pipe cleaners and cool whip has more structural integrity than the contents of this story. Nevertheless, it was fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hear the secrets that you keep  
> When you're talking in your sleep..."
> 
> The Romantics, _Talking in Your Sleep_

 

They had known each other for over five years and were married for one. Facing each other on the opposite ends of a long couch, both husband and wife had propped their bare feet onto the other person's lap as both read in a comfortable silence.

Lowering the book from her eyes, Brienne, the former Maid of Tarth, peered at her husband over the pages of her novel to study his face with a quizzical brow and a guarded smile. Her husband, Jaime Lannister, was absorbed in a book that he propped against his wife’s shins. Whenever he wasn’t fumbling with his hand and stump to flip to the next page, he’d used his lone hand to snake it beneath the cuff of his wife's breeches to stroke her bare leg.

Jaime's hair had grown past his shoulders since the war had ended. The Lannister gold of his youth was now mellowed out by the passage of time, yielding to the onset of silver hairs that threaded his temples. His beard was neatly trimmed, making him appear younger in spite of the snowy whiskers peppering his jaw. Deep lines had settled into his forehead while thin ones started to frame the corners of his eyes. Though the war had altered his appearances under the long arms of trauma, a part of his innocence had remained untouched with a sparkling green life that now flashed in his boyish eyes.

Glancing down at her book, Brienne stared at her page until the words seemed to blur together by a sudden indifference. She felt Jaime’s feet shift slowly in her lap while he emitted a deep, contented sigh. In all of the years she knew him, Brienne had never seen Jaime look so peaceful as he did now. Feeling rather playful, she reached down and stroked the heel of his foot with a flirtatious hum. As soon as his foot jerked back in surprise, she shoved her book aside with a satisfied grin. Wrapping both of her hands around his ankle, Brienne started to knead the arch of his with foot with sure hands.

A soft fluttering of pages quickly tumbled from the other side of the couch; glancing to her side, Brienne noticed Jaime’s book had fallen to the ground while a satisfied groan rose from his throat. Seductive eyes darted back up to her husband's face with a sneaky grin; Brienne was delighted to see Jaime tip his head over the armrest of the couch with closed eyes and a heady smile. She savored to watch the apple in his throat bob up and down as he started to moan with a throaty laugh.

“Mmmm. _You evil wench.._.”

Brienne paused her administrations; she refused to move her fingers again until her husband made eye contact with hers. Once he’d finally looked up, Brienne made a pointed glance down towards her feet, tucked deep into his lap. His wife was making a silent demand for him to massage her feet in turn. Dissolving into the couch with quiet laughter, Jaime relented with a playful pinch on her big toe. “Gods be good; _you are stubborn._ ”

Not long after, Jaime relented and started to rub her feet in turn with his single, clumsy hand. Though his grip was unsure and his fingers were uncertain, he made up for his losses with a hard, relentless thumb. Pressing the heel of his thumb deep into the arch of her foot, Brienne purred with a girlish smile while Jaime’s face darkened with a smug look of satisfaction.

“Ser Jaime.” Jaime glanced up at his wife with narrowed eyes and a weary tip of the head.

“Yes, _Lady Brienne_.” There was a mocking tone in Jaime’s reply. His wife smiled at him with a dreamy look on her face.  

“When did you realize you'd fallen in love with me?” Taken aback by the unexpected question, Jaime paused as he thought long and hard. His expression started to falter as soon as he remembered the night he'd discovered his love for Brienne. It was on a cold night in the heart of winter, tucked inside the halls of the frozen Red Keep. As he groveled on his knees and begged his sister for forgiveness, Queen Cersei told him that she was willing to forgive his prior rebellion against the Crown under one condition: 

She commanded Jaime to bring her the head of Brienne, The Maid of Tarth.

Haunted by all of the unwanted memories that followed, Jaime decided not to ruin a perfect moment with an ill born truth. After a moment of silence, he feigned ignorance and shrugged his shoulders with a dull look in his eyes. “I’m not sure.” Brienne looked down at Jaime’s feet with an air of disappointment. Filled with instant regret, he flexed his toes into her hands to grab her attention.

“How about you?” Brienne’s baby blue eyes sparked back to life. “When did you find out that you were forever doomed to love _the dreaded Kingslayer?”_ With that, Brienne twisted her thumb and forefingers around Jaime’s toes until he let out a small yip of pain. “ _Ouch_.”

Frowning down at the arches of his perfect feet, Brienne began to realize how difficult her question might’ve been for him. Brienne knew the exact moment she’d fallen in love with Jaime. It was the moment Catelyn Stark had given her a choice: either “noose or sword.” As the Brotherhood without Banners cinched a burlap sack over her face, she was grateful to have her tears concealed as her courage dissolved and she wept like a child. It was then she realized that she would rather die than slay the man that she loved.

Pale blue eyes fluttered back to life as she fought off the unwanted chill of haunting memories. Instead of imparting a hideous truth, Brienne decided to play the innocent and offer him another confession instead.

“My love for you didn’t happen overnight. It was slow and gradual… like watching winter turn to spring. The snow doesn't melt all at once; day by day, it turns to slush, and before you know it, you find green shoots emerging. It's then you realize that you thought you'd never live to see another spring… And before you know it, you have a hard time imagining life without it.” Jaime was silent as he studied Brienne’s eyes; they were distant and unfocused, but her mouth had fixed up into a wry grin. “I think loving you was something like that; something that was so seamless, _so natural,_ I didn’t realize it'd happened until much later.”

Jaime was touched. His wench had always been a quiet woman. So quiet in fact, he used to make fun of her for it. It wasn’t until much later, when she’d finally grown comfortable around him, he realized who she truly was: she was a hopeless romantic; a shy, soft spoken girl with quiet hopes and bashful dreams.

It was comforting for Jaime to hear his wife speak in such a way; the great war had not been kind to his Ladywife. Over the years, Brienne’s face had thinned out with age, and though her freckles had started to fade, she'd gained a hideous scar on her cheek in turn. Her hair had grown out, tumbling soft and golden like creamed honey, falling over her shoulder blades with limp curls. Though her nose was still crooked and her smile was still horsey, Jaime still saw the girl he'd first met in the black cells of Riverrun. After all these years she was still tenacious, fearless, and somehow… oddly beautiful.

Caught up in a daze, Brienne’s eyes were trained on nothing as she continued to rub and stroke Jaime’s feet in a peaceful silence. Holding back on a smile, Jaime nudged a cautious toe into her ribs and tried to grab her attention. “Hey.” With a few rapid blinks, Brienne’s eyes suddenly battered back to life. “Would you like to know when I first started having  _feelings_ for you?”

Brienne’s dreamy face slowly roused back to life. “Isn’t that the same as falling in love?” Jaime sighed as he tried to explain the subtle distinction to his wife.

“Well… yes and no. Love is…” Jaime’s voice lingered; searching for words, he finally gave up and spoke from his heart. “Love is absolute; it tears out your heart and burns up your soul. It steals your next breath, and it torments the mind. It makes you feel immortal while it shatters your confidence, all at the same time. Love amplifies all of your worst fears, but it also grants you the strength to believe in things you once thought were dead. Love gives you the hope to believe in things that you once felt were impossible.

“Now, _feelings_ , on the other hand, feelings are a violent storm of uncomfortable thoughts colliding with unexplained actions. Feelings are messy, confusing and they have the inexplicable power to lead a tainted knight back towards the ruins of Harrenhal to rescue his fair maid from certain death inside a bear pit.”  

Brienne nodded her head with a playful laugh as she gathered up some semblance of clarity. “I _suppose..._ Alright, Ser. When did you start to have ‘feelings’ for me?”

A playful grin tugged to one side on Jaime’s cheeks. He could see that his wife was riveted. Satisfied to have her undivided attention, Jaime dragged the heel of his thumb deep into the arch of her foot with a slow, mischievous look.

“A couple of days after Catelyn Stark released me into your custody, you said something to me that was… Well, rather _bold_ of you. Ever since that night, I'll admit that I started to have feelings towards you.” Brienne’s forehead started to crinkle up in bafflement.

“What _on earth_ did I say to you?” Jaime pressed the heel of his thumb deeper into the arch of her foot while a warm groan of pleasure soared from her chest.

“Well, if you must know, _my dear lady,_ it all started on the night you'd confessed your love to me.”

Brienne immediately sat straight up on the couch. Glaring at her husband with a fierce look of doubt, Jaime avoided her gaze with a devious smirk as he continued to rub and stroke her foot.

 

* * *

 

Although the woods were lovely, dark and deep, Jaime and Brienne still had many promises to keep... but with so many miles before they reached King's Landing, still, they had to sleep.

Chained up to a tree, Jaime snarled at the big, ugly wench as she started to prepare a bed for herself closeby. “ _Let me lie down_.” His captor said nothing; the crickets had more to say than her. “ _Unchain me.”_ Still, the dumb cow said nothing. Jaime sighed. _“_ You can’t expect me to fall asleep chained up to _a tree, can you?_ It's absurd!” The wench sniffed her nose with an ugly snort before she'd wiped it across her sleeve.

“You’ve slept in chains inside the dungeons of Riverrun for over a year. Sleeping outdoors against a tree won’t be any worse for the likes of you… _Kingslayer.”_ Jaime scowled at his chained feet with a long list of obscenities running through his head. After a few minutes of sighing and shifting like a morose child, both he and the wench managed to fall asleep tucked against a knotted tree.

Some hours passed into the night; Jaime wasn't sure for how long.

A strange noise started to rise from the other side of the tree. It sounded like the wench was speaking to someone. Jaime leaned forward against his chains, struggling to hear her words. _Who is the seven hells is she conspiring with?_ Tipping his head back to try and listen, Jaime started to grow impatient by his unwarranted ignorance. Giving in with an annoyed huff, Jaime fought to look around as he started to whisper Brienne’s name.

“Wench.” There was no response. “ _Brienne_ … who are you—” Jaime fell quiet once the maid’s voice started to grow coherent.

“... _shhhhhh_ … _there’s no one here…”_   

Jaime’s mouth dropped open in confusion. Feeling baffled, his face screwed up into a tight look of doubt as he twisted his head towards her side of the tree. _“What?”_

The wench didn’t respond; instead, she started to snore. _Loudly._ After a few moment of silence, Jaime’s eyes lit up with understanding as he began to chuckle softly to himself.  _The wench talks in her sleep!_ Jaime was tempted to laugh out loud; he was glad he didn’t; otherwise, he might’ve woken her up before things had gotten more interesting.

“ _My lord…_ the septa will accompany us…”

It was silent for a long time. Finally, Brienne spoke again with the curl of an ugly threat in her voice.

“... on my honor... as a _maid_ ... _.”_

Jaime was forced to bite down on his lower lip with a sneaky, childish laugh. He was amused; the maid was addressing a strange man in her sleep with such grave dignity. Anxiously, Jaime waited to hear the rest of Brienne’s dream. For a long time, the wench said nothing. Assuming that she’d fallen back asleep, Jaime settled himself back against the tree while closing his eyes. Any hopes for sleep were soon dashed once his eyes popped wide open as the maid spoke again in a chilling threat.

“… _I will gut you, ser.”_

Jaime had to fight off the roll of an instant shiver in his bones. _If the mad cow swears by her honor to_ gut _a figment in her sleep, what in the seven hells will she to do to me?_ Jaime looked up at the stars and wondered if he’d ever live to see Cersei again. All thoughts of his golden twin came to a sudden halt once Brienne started to pat down and fuss over her armor with clumsy hands. Finally, in a sleepy voice, Brienne drawled out a garbled command directed towards Jaime.

“… _hand me my sword_ …”

Jaime started to search the tall grass with a nervous look on his face. He didn’t want the wench to be armed with a _real_ sword in her sleep. At last, he found a twig buried in the blades of dewy grass. Handing over the false sword towards her, Jaime glanced at his captor with a nervous wince. _Better to arm her with only a stick, else wise she'll likely fumble for her sword and gut me in her sleep..._ Brienne grasped onto the stick with white knuckles before she’d let out with a deep sigh of relief. Once she was convinced that she'd been armed, she tipped her head close to Jaime’s and mumbled in his ear with a heartfelt sigh.

_“...I love you…”_

Once again, her hideous snoring continued. With the memory of her last words echoing inside his mind, Jaime leaned his head back against the tree and tried to ignore what the wench just told him. _She wasn’t confessing her love to you, Lannister. It was all part of some silly dream..._

After a few minutes of hearing her blasted snore, Jaime started to feel a mild ache of disappointment smolder in his chest. Confused by such strange feelings, he assumed he only craved to hear his sister's voice, longing to hear her say the words  _‘I love you,’_ once more. Annoyed by his absurd thoughts, Jaime dropped his back against the tree and tried to capture a few hours of rest. Moments later, he heard the wench sit straight up. Struggling to lean forward, Brienne pointed her false sword up in the air and spoke again with a threatening boom in her voice:

_“You’ll kiss the horse when I’m good and ready!”_

It was no use; Jaime started to laugh out loud. He'd laughed harder than he ever had in months. From that night forward, he started to look at the wench with fresh eyes. He'd even found himself looking forward to spending more nights with her as well.

 

* * *

 

Seated up on the couch with startled eyes, Brienne’s mouth hung wide open as she stared at her husband with a pale complexion. “ _I talked in my sleep?”_ Jaime slowly nodded his head as he continued to rub her foot some more. “You _still do.”_

Letting go of her foot, Jaime switched to the other one while his Ladywife leaned back against the armrest of the couch with a rosy bloom to her cheeks. “I’m surprised Pod never mentioned it...” Jaime smirked at her yellowing bunions with a slight tease in his voice. “May I continue?”

Brienne lifted her eyes to look towards Jaime with a look of total horror. She was startled, yet anxious to hear more tales about her unknown habit of sleep talking.

 

* * *

  

Two nights had passed since Jaime last heard the maid threaten to gut someone in her sleep. On the third day, he watched the ugly wench sleep close by with an odd little grin quirked on his face.

The wench was _hideous_ , and there was no denying it. Jaime openly glared at her face with unveiled spite and a blatant snarl of disgust. Her nose was more crooked than a dog's hind leg. Her bounty of freckles made her face look like it had been splattered with mud. Her teeth poked out of her mouth in odd angles like crooked gravestones. Her lips were distractingly thick, and her hair was a matted down by thorny twigs that were snagged in her hair. In spite of all the ways she failed to be a beauty, there was also no denying that Brienne was not only a formidable warrior... she was also a lady as well.

Plucking thick blades of grass beneath the light of a silvery moon, Jaime tried hard not to jangle his chains as the gigantic cow continued to snore in her sleep. Feeling adventurous, he reached over with a long arm and began to tickle the maid’s nose with a thin blade of grass. His smile grew wider as she furrowed her brow and started to frown in her sleep. He studied her face carefully as she swatted at the blade of grass with a puff of air, trying hard to blow it from her face.

“...you think that’s hard? Try doing it without pants on… _bastard_.”

Satisfied to know that he was able to provoke her in dreams _,_ Jaime laid back down on the grass and closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment. 

_Like a patch of mold on a hunk of cheese, the ugly wench is starting to grow on me._

Jaime's eyes slowly popped open. He was suddenly taken aback by his own, intrusive thoughts. Tipping his head off to the side, he leered at Brienne from the corner of his eyes with a slow, confused frown. All of a sudden, he started to recall how pretty her eyes were. 

_It would be a blue mold, I’d imagine…_

Curled up on his side, Jaime decided it was time to catch some sleep. Over his shoulder, he whispered a taunting  _‘goodnight’_ to Brienne with a shushed laugh. Eventually, the maid responded to him with a slurring voice before he fell asleep.

“...thanks for letting me shave your dog; he was _delicious_ …”

 

* * *

 

Brienne was speechless.

With her feet still tucked into Jaime’s lap, she used both hands to cover her face while groaning at herself in abject humiliation. Jaime smiled; he was having far too much fun watching his wife as she crinkled her face up in shame. Fighting to swallow back a chuckle, his toes tried to stroke the length of Brienne’s arm in good-willed humor. Slowly, she pried her hands off her face; her flush had started to pale into a luminous, clam-shell pink.

“Oh come now, sweetling. It’s not _so_ bad.” Brienne wasn’t feeling any comfort by Jaime’s words; if anything, his feeble attempt had only made things worse. “Besides… I haven’t told you some of the things you said _or_ done that were _truly_ unspeakable.”

With that, Brienne raised her head to glare at her husband with a look of wall eyed terror.

 

* * *

  

 _“...it’s funny_ … everyone gets to have the Lord's Kiss but  _me..._ ”

Jaime nearly choked on a mouthful of water.

Gasping for breath as he sputtered and gagged, most of the water in his mouth had gushed past his lips while the rest had drenched the front of his tunic. With a wheezing cough and bulging eyes, Jaime gasped for air with a look of total shock. He had a hard time reconciling the fact that someone like the maid—just a simple girl who seemed so pure, _so innocent_ —would ever speak of, never mind understand, something so base as oral sex.

Smearing a hand over his panting mouth, Jaime started to wonder how someone like her had heard of the Lord’s Kiss to begin with. For a long time, Jaime stroked slow, methodical fingers down the length of his wet beard while he stared at Brienne. He couldn't help but watch her sleep as she dreamed with the look of an innocent on her face

_Did she just say what I think she said?_

 

* * *

  

“I said _what?”_

Jaime glanced up at his wife with a casual smile.  Amused by her reaction, he arched one brow as he leered at her with a mocking frown. “You heard me.”  

Rattled by her husband’s story, Brienne fluttered a clammy palm over her chest with a shameful look on her face. Slowly, all of the puzzle pieces had started to ‘click’ into place, promptly forming a larger picture in her mind. _“Wait._ Is… is that the reason—why you…” Too ashamed to speak the words, Brienne darted her eyes down at her lap before she looked up at Jaime with a skeptical look. “Is that the reason why… _Uhhh,_ why you like to...”

Before she could say another word, Jaime started to grin at her with a wolfish smile. Locking eyes onto hers, he deliberately smoothed his tongue across his lower lip with a deep purr. Throwing her a suggestive glint in his eyes, he answered his wife's unspoken question with a slow nod of the head.

Brienne suddenly felt weary, and yet… oddly _pleased_ by that fact. In spite of her shy, unassuming nature, she managed to blush at him with a slow, delicious grin.

“Oh. _I see._ ”

Amused, Jaime quickly shrugged his shoulders with a lopsided grin.  “That’s not all though...”

 

* * *

 

Following that night, Jaime’s feelings for Brienne had started to become even more confusing for him.

That morning, he had a hard time making eye contact with Brienne. Every time Jaime looked at her, all of his thoughts started to obsess over the query she made in her sleep, wondering out loud why  _‘...everyone gets the Lord's Kiss but me.’_

Following that strange little question, Jaime had a dream that night. It was a rather confusing, oddly memorable and highly arousing dream. He dreamt of giving his captor a very erotic, rather lordly...  _kiss_ _._ Walking beside her over the off-beaten trails spanning the Riverlands, Jaime did all that he could to avoid the magnetic pull of stunning blue eyes in the days that followed. He'd assumed that his dream was nothing more than just a coincidence. With a cruel snicker to himself, he’d dismissed the carnal dream as nothing more than a nightmare that plagued him…  a nightmare that threatened to make his cock grow hard in the light of day with just the faintest whiff of its memory.

In spite of her gruesome face and her hulking form, Jaime found himself gravitating towards her every night, hoping to hear some more of her confessions in the midst of sleep. To his utter disappointment, the wench didn’t talk in her sleep for days after that. Over a week had passed before he discovered that Brienne would often reach for him whenever he'd rest close by.

Seated beside her slumbering form, Jaime leaned his back against a boulder while he watched the maid sleep with a threat of endearment hovering over his lips. He was intrigued; Jaime watched the maid turn towards him in her sleep. Raising up one arm, Brienne stretched her hand out into a wide mitt before she'd slapped it firmly across his face.

Wincing in shock by the sting of her slap, Jaime held his breath as she smothered his face with a merciless palm. Brienne poked and prodded and squished his face, squeezing it into a fleshy accordion made out of his smooshed lips and flattened nose. The maid continued to pinch his face as if she were searching for a latch hidden on a door. With one finger up his nose, a thumb in his mouth and a pinkie threatening to poke one of his eyes out, Jaime struggled to breathe and tried not to flinch as she squeezed his face with a look of confusion.

“.. _.I don't know_ … you don't feel pregnant _to_ _me_.”

A couple of nights later, Jaime was resting close to Brienne's side while she remained fast asleep. On this night, the wench looked different from the other nights they'd shared; she was now curled up into a tight ball, shivering and flinching as if she were ill. Both were resting in the tall grass under the long branches of a leafy walnut tree.

Jaime was concerned; the ugly cow looked like she was having a nightmare. Growing fascinated, he slowly rose up to his knees so he wouldn’t jostle his chains. Taking a few, ginger steps closer, he squatted down near her head with a reluctant yet tender smile. With a bent knee hovering close to her face, he listened carefully as the Nightingales sang and the hideous wench started to whimper. _I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Poor thing…_

_“Mmmhhh …mmmh!”_

Unexpectedly, Jaime found himself wanting to comfort the sweet girl. _“Shh shh shh._ It’s alright. You’re safe; don’t worry.” Still, Brienne whimpered as she mewled in her dreams.

“Mmmh. _I want… I want…_ Mmm…”

Jaime couldn’t help but remember the night he fucked his sister like a madman in Raymun Darry’s bedchamber. It was during their returning trip to King's Landing following a visit to Winterfell so Robert could ask Ned Stark to become the new Hand of the King. 

That night, while King Robert snored into the Myrish carpet after he’d passed out drunk, Jaime stepped over the bloated body of his King as he carried Cersei, naked and willing, in his arms. As he fucked her on top of Raymun’s bed, moaning and grunting into her fragrant hair, thrusting into her with wild abandon, Jaime felt invincible as he whispered sweet nothings into his sister's ear. In return, all Cersei could say to him was, _‘I want… I want.’_

At first, Jaime assumed that the only thing his sister wanted was _him;_ instead, it turned out that Cersei only wanted Arya Stark’s hand as punishment for striking their son, Joffery.

Squatting down over Brienne’s head, Jaime tried his best to console her in a sweet, hopeful whisper. “What is it wench? What do you want?” The maid slowly raised her arm and spoke up in a teary voice.

“...Mmmh… _give me your hand.”_

Curiosity had got the better of him; looking for a means of entertainment, Jaime lowered his hand just to humor the girl. Instead of reaching for his hand, Brienne shot a blind paw between his squatting legs and grabbed onto... something else instead. Jaime’s eyes flashed wide open as he emitted a girlish yelp of surprise.

_“...hmmm…”_

Jaime’s body had frozen still while the maid’s gentle hand started to stroke and fondle him between his thighs. After a moment, she began to smile, her face beaming with a sly grin in the midst of dreams. Jaime was petrified; he was afraid that the wench would wake up from her sleep at any moment. After she’d groped his manhood for a few more tantalizing moments, Brienne dropped her hand back down to her chest and tucked it beneath her chin. With a radiant smile, she started to blush in her sleep while Jaime suddenly forgot how to breathe. Finally, her voice started to demur followed by a flirtatious giggle.

_“...hhhhm!... That's not a hand…”_

After that, the wench rolled over on her side and continued to snore, blissfully unaware of all that she'd done. Frozen still in a squat position, Jaime dropped his ass down to the cold grass and burrowed his icy fetters between his legs.

With round eyes that struggled to blink, Jaime threw a cautious glance down at the unexpected apex forming between his thighs. Flushed with embarrassment, he clenched down on his jaw and damned himself a fool for trying to comfort Brienne.

Needless to say, sleep was very... _hard_ for him that night.

 

* * *

 

“I _molested_ you in my sleep?”  

Over the arch of her curled toes, Jaime offered his wife a charming smile. “Let’s just say that you gave me a memorable handshake instead.”

Brienne fanned a shaky hand over her stomach, feeling a hot lurch threatening to rise in her throat. Sensing just how upset she was, Jaime made an effort to ease her consciousness with a loving squeeze to her leg. “To be fair, _my lady_ … you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. I still hold you in the highest esteem.”

With a not so ladylike snort, Brienne dropped her head against the armrest of the couch with narrowed eyes and a tight grimace. Jaime tried to hold back on a laugh. “If it’s any comfort to you, the majority of your comments weren’t lewd. Some were actually quite amusing, if I may say.”  

After a moment of simmering in self-hatred, Brienne cracked open one eye and glanced at her husband with a small frown. “What do you mean ' _amusing?’”_

Jaime looked back down at one of his wife’s ingrown toenails before he started to wiggle her pinkie toe with a teasing finger and a widening grin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is finished and will be posted tomorrow! See you then!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandhi: I kill you, you bastard!  
> Satan: You couldn't kill me if you tried.  
> Gandhi: You betrayed me! You're not good. You, you're just a chicken. Chip-chip-chip-chip-cheep-cheep.
> 
> Tommy Wiseau's _The Bible_ , 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai!
> 
> Well, this is the final chapter... *scuffs sneaker against the sidewalk* 
> 
> Obviously, you knew that, but I just wanted to make sure that you, uhhh... Hmm. 
> 
> *looks around awkwardly and tries to avoid making eye contact with you*
> 
> I'm a — I'm gonna go now... *scampers away like a woodland creature*
> 
> Enjoy!

 

By day, Jaime was forced to endure the snarling commands of a hideous beast who was his captor. By night, Jaime was slowly introduced to another creature as well. Under the cold blanket of night while lying on a grassy bed, Jaime had the rare honor of greeting someone else entirely different by the light of a pale moon. 

Day by day, Jaime was slowly growing more comfortable with the presence of the young maid who slept at his side. Brienne, the Maid, was a presence that became quite refreshing for Jaime's cynical heart. The Maid was a sweet, innocent— _and sometimes_ —funny girl who was not only honorable and noble but also kind and gentle. In all of the ways Brienne stood apart from other women, Jaime couldn't help but compare her to his sister in every way. 

In the morning hours, Jaime was constantly reminded that his captor was, indeed, a ghastly creature to behold; she was an unsightly beast who seemed to profane the tenets of feminine ideals almost hourly. The stupid, stubborn, ugly cow had a breath that was fouler than a pitcher of curdled milk, and her skin was a filthy patchwork of freckles and scars. Her shambling stride was that of a drunken ox and she had the social grace of a blind and deaf mute. Her voice bore all the charms of a creaking iron and she had a face that could make a blind man gag.

On the other hand, there was no denying it—in spite of her many protests—his captor was still, indeed, a lady. In spite of her looks, Jaime was taken aback every time he watched her move with a sword in hand. Inside of those brief moments, it seemed as if she'd somehow transcended into a vessel of grace whose every breath was gilded by refinement. All of a sudden, Brienne's stride became elegant, her silence became threatening and her face had resembled the proud look of a warrior.  

But in her dreams, under the soft glow of moonlight, Brienne was nothing more than a helpless maiden. Several times over, Jaime had thought of bashing her skull in with a rock whenever she'd slept. Like always, he dismissed that idea soon after; even _he_ felt that such a death would be too ignoble for her. Gradually, he started to feel protective of her while she slept. This was the version of Brienne whom Jaime was delighted to meet; she was just a girl from the Sapphire Isles, daughter to Lord Selwyn Tarth, a well-known lord who was revered for his honorable ways. Sometimes, Jaime couldn’t help but puzzle over the likes of Lord Selwyn: what kind of man in his right mind would allow his only child— _his last heir_ —to dress up as a knight and fight in a war where she’d likely be killed or raped?

Though Jaime had started to grow more protective of Brienne, there were still plenty of times he'd often laugh at her expense. Oftentimes, he had to stifle his laughter once he heard some of the more absurd things that came out of her mouth:

_“...let’s just cut off his head so we can go home. He can grow another one in the morning…”_

_“...where am I going to find an eel that plays the guitar? Those guys live all the way up in the mountains, in the clouds…”_

_“...all I need is twenty good men…”_

 

One night, Jaime was startled awake while Brienne sat up in her sleep. She turned to Jaime with dull eyes and spoke to him with a dazzling smile. Reaching close to him, she grabbed him by his sleeve and tugged on it, laughing and smiling as though she’d finally solved a vexing riddle.  

“I’ve got it: _we’ll eat our way out!”_

Incapable of sleep, Jaime watched Brienne with growing amusement as her strange dream continued. Once she'd let go of his sleeve, the maid dropped both hands into her lap before slowly cupping her palms in severe reverence. After a few minutes of strange humming, Brienne extended her hands and brought them towards his face like a begging pauper.

 _“... yes Ser, I’d love me some pie…”_  

Unwilling to reply for fear of waking her, instead, Jaime snickered at the drunken look floating across Brienne’s face. Growing curious, he looked around to find something to hand her. Running his fingers through the tall grass, searching for a toad or maybe a pine cone, Jaime froze up with fear once he heard the wench emit a broken sigh that was brimmed in heartbreak.

_“Awwwww. You dropped it.”_

The sweet girl was devastated. Jaime’s face melted into a flash of terror as he watched Brienne's lower lip start to pout and tremble as fat tears pooled in her eyes. Feeling desperate, terrified of seeing her cry, Jaime shushed his captor, desperately patting her hand in mild comfort. He felt his heart shatter to pieces as he watched the steady tears slip down her face. Panicked, Jaime made a solemn vow to the wench, several times over, that they would make another pie— _a better pie_ —soon after. After a while, Brienne slowly accepted Jaime's promise as he glossed cautious finger over her cheeks, desperate to dry the tracks of her tears. Eventually, Brienne nodded her head with faint hiccups while Jaime managed to somehow cheer her up. Not long after, she began to smile and thank him before she fell back on the grass and proceeded to snore just a few seconds later.

One night, Jaime woke up to hear a strange sound; it was a soft, distinctive popping noise that floated over his shoulder. Slowly turning around, he realized that the sound was coming from the wench herself. To his bafflement, Jaime watched Brienne smack her lips together, causing that annoying 'pop' sound. Too tired to find it endearing, Jaime rolled over to his side and made a sharp shushing sound through gritted teeth.

All was quiet for a long time... until the popping sound eventually continued; soon after, it gave way to another sound, one that was far more annoying for Jaime to hear.

_“...mmmm... mmmm... mmmoist..."_

"Brienne? _Quiet."_

_"...mmmm...mmmoist."_

_"Shhhhhh!"_

_"...mmmm...Moist. Moist. Mmmmmoist. Mmmmmmoist . Moist. Mmmoist. Moist. Moist...”_

Feeling his shoulders start to tremble with rage, Jaime fought to bury his ears beneath his filthy cloak as he took deep breaths and struggled to remain calm.

The next night, Jaime was woken again by an absurd conversation Brienne held in her sleep.

 _“...no. No, no I like spinach._ I’m just ashamed to admit it _… now step aside; I need to grab a handful of this blubber.”_

Irritated, Jaime rolled over on his side and tried his hardest to ignore the wench. Moments before he could drift back to sleep, he felt the wench grab ahold of his hip and begin to shake him.  

_“Hey.”_

Jaime was in no mood to respond; he was simply, too tired to care. Off at a distance, Jaime glared at a baby fawn and its mother while they plodded into a small copse of trees close by; Jaime willed the wench to fall asleep with a desperate plea to the gods to shut her up.

_“...heyy yy yy....”_

Refusing to move, Jaime cracked one eye open as he seethed and frowned, grumbling under his breath at the sound of Brienne’s childlike voice. Simmering with contempt, Jaime promptly closed his eye and forced himself to go back to sleep. After a few moments, the maid started to jostle his hip with a frantic shake. Finally, she grew impatient and slapped his ass with a sharp crack of her hand.

_“HEY!”_

As soon as Jaime sat up, he turned to face his captor with a bonfire of heat threating to ignite behind his eyes; as soon as Brienne saw his face, she sighed deep, forcing herself to be brave as she curled back her lips into an angry glower.

“...maybe _I will_ lick those swamp apples…”

In spite of his anger, in spite of the lack of sleep and the stinging pain in his rear, Jaime started to dissolve into a quiet spell of laughter once Brienne rolled back over to her side, picked at the smallclothes wedged between her ass cheeks and continued to snore like a drunken sailor. 

One night, Jaime woke up to a rather enticing sound. 

Roused from his sleep, Jaime looked over his shoulder with unexpected enticement. He could hear the maid as she moaned and sighed like one of Petyr Baelish’s seasoned whores. Tempted by all of the breathy sounds she made, Jaime dared himself to turn over and face her as he discreetly bundled his filthy cloak across his lap. Propping up his head with a lazy hand and a cautious smile, Jaime proceeded to get comfortable as he stretched out his body alongside his wench while she continued to pant and moan deep in her sleep.

 _“... yeah...yeah… I like it this way_ — _uhhh..."_

Jaime's smile began to falter...

_"...ooooh... Oh gods! Uh... Yeaahhh. Mmmm, that too!"_

Glancing around to make certain no one was looking, Jaime leaned in closer while licking his lips.

_"...hmmhh… Oooooo. Yeahhhhhh. Oh. Ooo. Oh!"_

Sweat started to bead on Jaime's upper lip.

_"....ohhh. Uhhh. Uhuhuh."_

Off at a distance, Jaime could see an opossum peer its tiny head out of a shallow hole to stare at them. Feeling his breath grow still in his chest, Jaime's eyes turned round as saucers once the wench started to climax. 

_"Ohhh. Oh! Oh-uh! Uh! UH! Huh."_

Jaime was panting...

_"Huh. Huh. Hmmmph! UH! UHH. UHHHH! Oooooohhhhhgods!"_

Brienne instantly seized up into a tight clench of limbs before her face coiled up into a harsh grimace followed by a sharp, sweet gasp. Jaime was spellbound; he incapable of looking away. The world could've been set to flame, and he wouldn't have noticed it. Even though he knew this voyeurism was ignoble, still, Jaime refused to blink. Once he saw the maid's body tense up in a delicious rattle of pleasure, he was hopelessly fixated on all of the soft, trembling flinches that shivered down her body. With all of her breathy moans and the heave of her breasts and the hypnotic roll of her hips, Brienne tensed up her impressive form one final time before she dissolved into her bedding with a panting chest and a spent sigh followed by a smile. 

_"...hhhhmmmm..."_

Jaime was transfixed on Brienne like a moth to a flame. Even in the dark, he could tell that the maid's face was glowing. Once she had finally caught her breath, Brienne stretched her arms high over her head like a dozing house cat and stretched her long legs while beaming with an innocent grin. 

_"...mmmm. Now do the other side!”_

Somehow, Jaime failed to notice that he didn't get any sleep that night; It wasn't until he'd heard the meadowlark sing its pretty song did he notice patches of gold sunlight dapple the maid's ugly yet serene face.

Though Jaime had grown rather fond of his nights listening to Brienne, there were other nights he’d wished that he didn’t have to rest by her side.

On occasion, the maid would have nightmares. Sometimes he could hear her breath catch and snag into winded gasps, softly murmuring to no one with teary pleas… pleas that'd left Jaime feeling pitiful and useless in spite of his best efforts to rouse her from her sleep. Other nights, he could hear the wench stutter in a childish voice as she mewled and begged, calling out to someone named Ronnet. On those nights, Brienne's face would coil up into a tight look of pain, all the while whispering about her hatred of roses. One night, following such a dream, Brienne bit down on her tongue and slapped a wide hand across her mouth. Jaime felt his heart twist up in sympathy as he watched blood glisten on her lips while she flinched and muttered in pain.

One night, Brienne managed to scare the seven hells out of Jaime. Lying side by side underneath a rocky overhang near a waterfall, Jaime was already on high alert, scanning the bushes to see if there were prowlers nearby. Earlier that day, they'd heard some villagers warning others about a pack of rapers that were camping in the woods somewhere close by. 

Off at a distance, Jaime heard a twig snap deep in the shadows of a nearby brush. Sitting straight up with spooked eyes and with no weapon in hand, he scanned the nearby pond and wondered if someone was planning to attack Brienne while they slept. As his leery green eyes drifted back towards the circle of their little camp, Jaime flinched with a startled yelp once he looked to his side. Brienne was seated close beside him, looking as though she could see right through him. Between her sleepy eyes and her chilling smile, he couldn't help but feel like the maid looked like a haunted specter.   

_“Kingslayer… I warned you; she's right behind you. You can't see her, but she's right behind you.”_

Rattled by her eerie warning and ominous tone, Jaime looked over his shoulder and readied himself for a battle. Instead of finding a woman standing close behind, he found nothing more than the black rush of a waterfall accompanied by slick stones and mossy logs. When he turned back round to face her, Jaime discovered the maid was curled up on her side, snoring loud and deep like a tired old dog.

Other nights, Jaime was grateful to see more of a tender side to his brutish captor; someone who wasn’t so hell-bent on oaths or honor and the vows of knights or the standards of chivalry. Often times, Jaime felt enchanted by the silly girl he was started to become friends with at night. In her sleep, Brienne was oddly surprising and a rather playful minx too.

Roused from his sleep, Jaime felt Brienne’s hand shake his shoulder one evening. Speaking to him in a voice that was garbled like a mouth full of stones, Brienne made a formal announcement to her prisoner, informing him that she was thirsty. Feeling as though he were rising from the dead in a quicksand grave, Jaime slowly got up from his bedroll and rifled through his pack to search for his canteen. By then, the wench was standing over him with an impatient, almost petulant air as he searched his rucksack for his water. Jaime started to search frantically as the Maid swayed back and forth on her feet, looking tipsy and lost within the trance of her foggy dreams.

Annoyed to hear her mutter about how thirsty she was, Jaime was relieved to find his flask and hand it over. Looking down on the skin with a dull and simple look, Brienne rubbed her eyes again with a loose fist and spoke once more in a garbled voice.

_“...I want some water… ”_

Exhausted and irritated, Jaime motioned towards the canteen in her hands with a deep, frustrated sigh. “Wench, you have water. So please, _shut the bloody hell up_ and just… drink the damned water.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Brienne’s expression changed, screwing up into an angry scowl pointed at him. Unclasping the lid from his flask, she sniffed the nozzle while Jaime struggled not to feel any offense with her blatant skepticism of him. _After all this time we’ve spent together, does she really think that I’m going to poison her now?_

Wiping a crust of sleep from his eyes, Jaime watched Brienne loom over him with an open mouth and slow blinking eyes; he suddenly thought that she looked like an oafish mute. All of a sudden, the mad cow turned on her heels, dropping the canteen by its leather strap until it dangled from her fingers. Before Jaime could ask what she was doing, Brienne twisted her upper body in a low stance before she executed a graceful spin, using the balls of her feet to launch his canteen up above with a sweeping arm before she snapped his flask high into the air.

Jaime should have been mad at her, but instead, he was in awe. 

Not only had the wench propelled his flask with the precision and grace of a Dornish soldier tossing a spear, but she had also managed to throw his bottle high into the trees where it had eventually caught onto a branch and firmly remained. Unaware of what she’d done, Brienne scratched her head as she shuffled her feet, staggering back to her bedroll before she dropped her head and proceeded to snore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re lying.”

Her husband just shook his head with a casual expression and a lazy ‘no.’ Not willing to believe him, Brienne flexed her toes and started to curl them around his fingers. With a devil may care smile, Jaime tipped his head off to the side with a cool look on his face. “Sweetling… when have I _ever_ lied to you?”

With that, Brienne sank her shoulders deep into the couch with a thin mouth and wide eyes. Over the years, she'd learned how to read Jaime as well as she'd read most books. Indeed, her husband was telling the truth. Massaging the lower half of his legs in mild distraction, Brienne looked away at a foggy distance while she muttered mostly to herself. “We'd spent the whole morning looking for that cursed flask.” Jaime nodded his head in memory while Brienne stroked his hairy calf with a mystified look marring her face. “I just assumed that you’d somehow lost it or a woodland creature stole it during the night.”

Quirking back a slight grin, Jaime shrugged only one shoulder while his lone hand squeezed his wife’s foot. “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, I think it's safe to say that both of your assumptions are still correct.” Brienne flashed him a look of warning while Jaime sank his back deeper into the couch with a sneaky laugh. After a while, Brienne made a mental note to herself to have the tanner make another flask for Jaime while he stroked the top of her feet with a blissful look on his face. Brienne’s expression changed once she thought of the morning they had searched the woods for Jaime’s canteen: it was the day before they had arrived at Maidenpool.

As memories of their glorious duel together started to wane once she'd remember their capture by The Bloody Mummers, suddenly, Brienne couldn’t help but wonder…

“When we were caught…” Jaime’s hands fell still over Brienne’s feet while she continued, “...when the Bloody Mummers made us their prisoners, did I talk in my sleep then?” 

The smile on Jaime’s face began to die a slow, reluctant death while memories of their capture and torture assailed him. With foggy eyes that were distant accompanied by a slow dawn of grief, Jaime cleared his throat and threw his wife a false smile. Slowly, he replied to her question in a rough and throaty voice.

“Only once.”

Brienne was surprised; she'd imagined that she might've kept Jaime up every night with nightmares, reliving some of her most recent traumas during that time. 

“Well… I’m curious. What did I say?” 

Jaime had a hard time answering his wife. Instead, he picked at one of jagged toe nails with downcast eyes and a broken sigh. He was in no mood to remember the night he lost his hand, much less, any of the subsequent days prior to their arrival at Harrenhal. 

But for her… only for Brienne, Jaime was willing to remember those dark days once more. Clearing his throat with a brusque sigh and an uncomfortable shrug, Jaime eventually grumbled in a husky voice with eyes that shifted, incapable of locking onto hers.

“Well, if you must know, my Lady…”

 

* * *

  

Though he was burning with fever and exhausted, Jaime couldn’t sleep. 

The pain in his right arm had been too great.

Every time he jostled his arm, every time he shifted his weight or moved his body, Jaime felt a white-hot bolt of pain shoot up his arm before shattering his mind. As he felt his fever smoldered below his skin and sweat bead from every pore, there was only one thought that consumed his mind on that horrible night:

_Live for Cersei. Live for Tyrion. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays his debts._

After he'd lost his hand, the only thing Jaime could do was whisper feeble, childhood prayers with tears in his voice and a heart wrenched by grief. Tied up and facing Brienne, the two swayed together as one while seated on the back of a less than sure-footed horse. With the stink of his rotting hand permeating his nostrils, all Jaime could do was weep and pray as he watched the moldering hand tied around his neck slap the wench’s meager breasts.

Other than desperate prayers, there was only thought that Jaime could nurse; only one simple wish:

He wished he could die.

Earlier that morning, the pain in his arm had been too great, and the constant jostling of the horse had finally driven him mad. As he slid off their horse, Brienne was helpless to watch Jaime fumble for the Dornishman’s sword, staggering and stumbling in the mud. He had been willing himself to meet his end, making a pitiful attempt at suicide in a battle against Shagwell and Rorge.    

Later that night, lying underneath a glimmering veil knitted together by auspicious constellations and divine starlight, Jaime tucked his stump close to his chest and thought of the insult Brienne called him earlier that night. The wench, the surly stubborn cow, had the nerve to call him a 'craven' to his face. 

Taken aback by her insult, a slur that no man dared to utter before, the word still stung him well into the night, long after the Mummers had passed out and long after Brienne had fallen asleep. With stony defiance, Jaime silently countered the wench's insult by making a simple vow, one that he'd swore to keep:

_Live for Cersei._

_Live for Tyrion._

_Live for vengeance._

_A Lannister always pays his debts._

As Jaime nursed the throbbing pain in his arm, tears streaked down past his temples while he stared helplessly up at the night sky. _Live for Cersei, live for Tyrion. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays his debts. Live for Cers_ —

The wench’s snoring started to grow louder. Throwing daggers at Brienne’s homely face, Jaime stroked his throbbing arm while he struggled to remember the words to his newest vow. 

 _Live for Tyrion. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays his debts.._. 

After he repeated his vow over a hundred times, Jaime’s bloodshot eyes drifted towards Brienne, glaring at her in a curious brew of both concern and spite.

_“...Lady Catelyn…”_

Jaime started to frown once he heard Brienne talking in her sleep. She sounded terrified, hopeless; powerless and yet... somehow brave.

_“...he’s under my protection…”_

In spite of the resentment he’d felt for her, Jaime’s heart softened once he realized that she was dreaming of their first encounter with Vargo Hoat. The Maid was begging him and The Blood Mummer’s not to hurt Jaime. After Brienne whimpered and started to huff with tears, she began to struggle against her binding ropes like a dimwitted ox. After she'd finally given up, the ugly wench sighed and whimpered as she bleated like an orphaned calf. With a raw voice, Jaime gave in and tried to reason with her.

“Wench.” 

There was no response. 

“Brienne.” 

Finally, the maid stirred from the torment of dreams. A long moment had passed in silence between them. In the cool quiet of the camp, Jaime could hear nearby horses whicker as Ursywyk and the Dornishman snored; the Bloody Mummers had blacked out once they'd finished off a cask of sour wine. Off at a distance, a snowy owl looked down on Jaime while perched on a branch looming overhead. With a soft flap of its wings, the majestic owl swept across a patch of starry sky while Brienne started to mutter again in her sleep.

_“...I swore a holy vow…”_

Disgusted by the sight of his bloody stump, Jaime glared back at the stars in a fevered daze. Gradually, he spoke to her in a constricted voice while fat tears swelled and blurred his vision. 

“Don’t know why you bother, wench. It’s not like he’s worth all the trouble.” At first, Brienne didn’t respond; instead, she sighed deep while curled up in the dark cradle of dreams.

_"...I made an oath to Lady Catelyn…”_

Jaime rolled his eyes in annoyance; he'd never tried holding an entire conversation with the Maid while she slept. “Sure, sure. Fine... stupid, stubborn beast.” Off in the distance, the owl hooted among the spires of a distant tree. Picking at the dried flecks of blood splattered on his tunic, Jaime started to wonder what Cersei was doing at that very moment.

_“...mmmh... Jaime’s worth more than you dare believe…”_

Huffing his breath with the fog of a rueful laugh, Jaime winced at a bolt of pain lancing through his tender arm. “Sure; _he’s a Lannister;_  it's a name that's famous for settling their debts. Lord Tywin would pay for his son with more gold than any man could ever dream of—”

_“...mmmm… not gold ...he’s worth more than… ”_

The Maid didn’t finish her sentence. It was quiet for a long time afterwards. Reluctantly, Jaime shrugged his shoulders with a winded laugh and a begrudging smile. He could no longer tell if it was sweat or tears that rolled down his cheeks. “Sure. Fine. Indeed, _a fair trade;_ him in exchange for the Stark girls.”

Jaime slowly tipped his face to watch Brienne for a response; to his disappointment, the stubborn beast had failed to reply. Growing bitter by her silence, Jaime started to needle her as she slept with an irritated look on his face.

“I’m curious though, Brienne. Please; try to enlighten a 'craven' such as Jaime Lannister: how precious can those girls really be? Hmmm. _I wonder…_ More valuable than all of the innocent children who’ll soon become orphans? Orphaned by a war ignited by the ‘honorable’ _Ned Stark?”_

Again, the wench had no response for him. With the look of an innocent, she continued to sleep with a strange, sweet look on her face. Assuming that she was done talking for the night, Jaime rolled his head back up to face the night sky, wishing he was whole and well again, lying naked in bed and holding his sister.

_“...Jaime will always be a knight. A golden, shining knight...”_

Frozen with quiet disbelief, Jaime slowly turned his head and stared at the Maid in disgust. _The stupid brave bitch mocks me, even in her dreams..._ Eagerto dismiss her praise, Jaime’s eyes drifted back down towards his lone hand as it tried to clenched down on the swollen throb of his right arm. Under the light of a crescent moon, Jaime's hand looked silvery and pale while he fussed with the gauze that started to itch once his oozing blood had finally dried.

“Jaime Lannister is nothing more than a tainted knight, wench. He’s a kingslayer, don’t forget. An oathbreaker.” 

Rife with self-loathing, Jaime’s eyes followed a brief trail of light that flashed in the wake of a falling star. There was a forlorn expression on his face as his miserable voice dropped down to a soft, pitiful murmur. “He’s a hideous monster; someone who throws helpless children out of tower windows. A pathetic excuse for a man. He's nothing more than a worthless slave for his sister’s cunt—”

_“...he's my hero.”_

Though her words were soft and fleeting, the Maid’s dreamy confession had the power to ruin Jaime’s heart, striking him quick and deep while Brienne's sweet words started to burrow inside the marrow of his soul. 

Watching her innocent face sleep for a long time, Jaime’s tear-swollen eyes battered with a caustic grin and a wry chortle. Feeling weary and without any traces of ego or strength, Jaime looked up at the stars for a long time as he felt both sweat and tears pool inside the shells of his ears. Suddenly, Jaime realized that the Moon Maid was no longer hiding behind the great pine tree; she was now looking down on him in the center of the sky, watching over him, protecting him with sobering grace and a quiet dignity. Before he managed to fall asleep, Jaime closed his eyes and spoke to Brienne once more.

“Jaime _wishes_ he could be someone’s hero…”

 

* * *

 

 

Neither husband or wife said anything for a long time. 

With a reflective gaze coiled on his face, Jaime stroked and smoothed Brienne’s feet with a hot blush burning at the base of his neck. Growing ever more bashful by his murmured confession, he avoided his wife’s gaze until he heard her sniffle from the other end of the couch.

“The day I’d left Harrenhal, I was sick to my stomach for the entire ride. With every mile that dragged us further apart, the angrier I became... the more useless I’d felt.” 

Finally, Jaime looked up. Brienne had tucked both of his feet into her hands, clutching onto them and holding them tight to her chest. For a moment, Jaime smiled; he’d realized that she was holding his feet as if she was cradling an infant. Though he’d managed to clear his throat, Jaime was annoyed to realize that his voice still sounded tight.

“Later that night, I had a dream… _I dreamed of you_. It was then I realized that I wasn’t just angry; _I was scared for you._ It was then I realized that I wasn’t as helpless as I once felt. I realized that maybe, if I couldn't be a hero for the realm, I could  _try_ to be your hero instead.” 

Jaime looked back down at his wife’s bare feet. Even though she was smiling, it still pained him to see tears linger inside her beautiful eyes. “After that, I'd ordered Bolton's men to return to Harrenhal. I was afraid; gutless— _terrified._ I was scared that I'd already lost you.”  

Furrowing his brow to keep the threat of tears at bay, Jaime smiled in spite of the painful memory. “I guess that was the moment I realized I had feelings for you, my dear Lady.”  

Seated together in the thick boil of silence, Brienne wiped at her tears with the heels of her palm and a tremulous smile and a breathy sigh.

_“I think I knew.”_

Jaime’s eyes started to clear once he looked at his wife in surprise. Brienne was grinning as she wiped at her nose, using only her sleeve without discretion. “Somehow… _I think I knew_. That was the moment I realized I'd felt something for you also.” Jaime smiled as Brienne laughed through a stream of hopeless tears. “You are, Jaime. You are my shining knight. My beautiful, _golden,_ shining knight.”

Willing himself not to cry, Jaime quickly sat up on the couch and tickled his fingers down the arch of Brienne’s foot. As soon as his wife’s tears gave into a bright chime of laughter, Jaime crawled up the couch, prowling over the length of her body with a faint purr and the starved look of a mountain cat. 

“Hmmm… Is that so, my Lady?” Burying his face deep into the hot crook of her neck, Jaime’s warm snarl quickly gave way to a heated growl once he started to kiss her ear before he playfully nipped at the length of her chuckling throat. Tugging his head close to her face, Brienne smiled as her laughter rang sweetly in his ears. Once their hungry lips gave way to a slow caressing of tongues, Brienne pulled her mouth away briefly. 

"Ooof." 

Jaime looked down to scan her face in worry. _“Are you alright?”_

Brienne nodded her head as she glanced down, resting a gentle hand on her swelling stomach. “He’s kicking.”

Once she watched his eyes grow wide with astonishment, Brienne wove her fingers into Jaime's hand and placed it over the slight curve of her belly. For a long time, neither one said a word as mother and father greeted their first child with a soft gasp of wonder.

“Are you _sure_ it’s a boy?” 

Brienne glanced up at her husband with a dull look stitched across her face. Sighing with irritation, she offered her husband a flippant response. “Boy or girl, the babe is stubborn as an ox and kicks like one too.”

“Sounds like the child takes after his mother…” Brienne narrowed her eyes on her husband following his quip comment.

“I disagree. More like the child is eager to take after _you.”_

As soon as Jaime's mouth melted into his wife's sweet kisses, he maneuvered his body and settled his weight so he would not lean against the baby. Deep, throaty chuckles continued to pass between husband and wife as their kisses continued for a long while afterward. 

After spending a long spell in the soft glow of their happily ever after, Brienne wrapped one leg around Jaime’s waist as she smiled into his following kisses.

“You will always be my hero, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime sighed with a breathless laugh as he started to grin into her kisses like a lovestruck fool.

“And you’ll always be mine, my Lady Brienne.”

 

 

 

 

THE END    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I was wrapping up the epilogue to Frost, sometimes I'd get really stressed out and start to feel either worried or doubtful. Frustrated by the lack of progress in my story, I'd work on this one instead just to cool my head.
> 
> As for the sleep talking parts, some of these are based on stories by my friends, family, co-workers, Ask Reddit postings and a few personal experiences that I've had also.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this fic. Thanks for reading!


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